


Always

by lazarus_girl



Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-06 10:06:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "You have to find someone worth the loving."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> Future Fic. Set roughly two years after the end of S4. Follows S3 and S4 events, but uses the alternate timeline/canon mentioned in Naomi’s ‘True Love’ speech.
> 
> Originally posted at my Livejournal. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are my own.

Once, not too many years ago, Naomi dismissed Valentine’s Day as yet another over-commercialised, overhyped entrant into the national calendar, to fill that empty lull just after Christmas and before Easter; something of an empty occasion. She thought it was just a way to package love; a cynical ploy to get people to consume, and it never once occurred to her that people who were truly in love actually celebrated at all.

Secretly, behind the façade of her surly teenage demeanour – and the nodding along to her mum’s rants at the kitchen table with Sally, Debs and every other waif and stray in a two-mile radius – she thought that people shouldn’t just use one day as an excuse for loving. If you loved someone, she reasoned, you loved them every day, in all its hours. You thought about them between every breath with a smile. They were your entire world, not just a tiny corner of it.

Even so, it felt like a high ideal. Like something that would be perpetually out of her grasp. Love like that didn’t exist. It was just fairytales for grown-ups. But, what she was missing, day after day, year after year, was one pivotal thing: you have to find someone worth the loving. Then and only then can you love completely. When you find them, it feels like that one person is the missing half of you, and unknowingly, you’ve been waiting for the very moment when your paths chose to cross.

***

As it turns out, her perfect match wasn’t a tall, dark, handsome stranger, but a small, cherry-hued, beautiful girl called Emily Fitch. A girl who she’s known, in one way or another, since they were twelve years old. To look at her, she’s the epitome of meek and mild, someone that could so easily fade into the background, constantly ignored. But, Emily’s more than that, so much more. She’s the kindest, most patient person Naomi knows, but, she’s also the boldest, the bravest and, when she least expects it, quietly mischievous too. Her only fault – if it could even be classed as such – is that she’s all too easy to fall for, because she has no idea, even now, the effect she has on Naomi.

It was Emily and her soft voice and her big brown eyes that made her run from the bus stop to their form room and just for that brief moment every morning when she’d be walking one way and Emily the other and their gaze would meet. Ten seconds later, she’d pass, silently sinking into her seat, and look away, bored and disinterested if Emily dared to glance over again. It was Emily who kept her awake at night replaying a brief drunken kiss that unfurled out of nowhere during a birthday party, while drinking cheap vodka, sat on rickety green plastic chairs. It was Emily who took her to the lake, kissed her until she couldn’t breathe anymore; touched her like she’d always dreamt of, and made her ache with a wanting that’s never ever left her since.

It was Emily who made her do inexplicable, often hurtful things, because no one ever told her that loving completely could hurt completely too. That was another lesson on its own of course; that some people, are worth the pain as well as the pleasure. It was Emily who made her realise it’s OK to be stupid, to do random things without a plan. Like going to the pub and drinking dubious, garishly-coloured cocktails before singing outrageously loud and hilariously out of tune to Blondie on the karaoke machine. Like finding out that she actually prefers sitting on grass outside her house, eating chips with too much salt and vinegar than a proper, adult dinner in a restaurant where the starters are the only thing they can afford without being too outraged.

It’s always been Emily. It always will be.

Eight years is nothing compared to the average lifespan, but it feels like she’s known her for twice that time, maybe more. Emily isn’t someone she stares at from the row behind, throws sidelong glances at or shares fleeting drunken kisses with at random parties anymore. Emily is someone she gazes at adoringly, who she kisses – and more – whenever she feels like it. Emily is the person who she shares everything with and can’t be without. Clichéd, yes, but it’s no less true. Being with Emily has taught her many things: how to be honest, how to be open and be ashamed of neither of those traits; but most of all, Emily’s taught her how to love, how to be loved and how to be loving.

Now, that girl isn’t quite twenty, she hasn’t gotten any taller out of heels, and her hair’s a deep, rich brown, but she _has_ become even more beautiful, and not just because she has an almost faded tan from their year in Goa, or that she’s currently lying asleep, languishing, blissfully, naked in her bed, _their_ bed in their tiny London flat – a shoebox with a view Emily’s dad says – but because she’s Emily. _Her_ Emily.

After she’s finally stopped fighting with heart-shaped cutters and slicing up fruit and arranging them in pretty shapes on even prettier plates, all laid out on a proper breakfast tray, like Emily’s royalty, the Queen of … somewhere – Naomi smiles at the thought, and then blushes at its stupidity – she’ll finally go into their bedroom, and present Emily with her breakfast, will no longer just be her girlfriend, but be her fiancé, her wife. The person she wants to spend the rest of her life with, because this isn’t just any old Valentine’s Day. It’s the day where Naomi gets to fulfil her wish. She gets to keep the girl she loves, hold her tight, look after her and protect her forever. Assuming Emily says yes, that is.

***

She’s been pottering around the flat since six, pacing aimlessly back and forth deciding how she’s going to propose, in between hanging out of the window chain smoking and sipping on her coffee, hugging the oversized mug. It’s more out of habit than need; since she’s wide awake, despite the fact she’s had less than two hours sleep, caught in the nervous excitement that usually belongs with birthdays and Christmas, except it feels like all twenty of both celebrations all at once. No matter how she phrases it, nothing sounds quite right. It’s ridiculous, because she’s got no problem telling Emily she loves her – she says it at the drop of a hat these days – but asking someone to marry you is probably the most important question you’ll ever ask in your entire life. You don’t get second chances.

It’s terrifying and exciting, but mostly it’s just terrifying.

All this is hardly what she imagined whenever she pictured how this day would unfold. Whenever she has, it always been perfect; the stuff of sonnets, and it was always after she’d taken Emily out somewhere expensive and she was always dressed in equally expensive clothes with some high-flying job, and they had a flat, no, a loft that looked like something out of the interiors magazines Emily likes to read. Instead, Emily’s got someone still in their pyjamas at ten in the morning; a history and politics student who’s had to save for over three months before she could even think about buying an engagement ring that didn’t look like it came out of a cracker or one of those grabbing machines they have in arcades. As for their flat, it usually looks like a bomb’s hit it, most definitely lived in; and nothing like those magazines at all.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

The only thing Naomi can never picture is how happy Emily will look when she asks her, because it won’t quite be the same kind of smile she gets whenever they see each other across a crowded room; or the one she sees most mornings when she opens her eyes to see Emily gazing at her, lovingly, after having kissed her awake. No, it’ll be something completely different, something she has no benchmark for at all. If it goes to plan, it’ll be the kind of happy you need another name for; the kind of smile that can only ever happen once, and the second you see it, you know it will never ever fade because it’s so special and so important.

They’ve exchanged Valentine’s presents already, at the stroke of midnight, in a flurry of kisses because Emily couldn’t wait any longer. Stepping back to admire her culinary handiwork, she touches her fingertips to the present Emily gave her, which hangs around her neck never to be taken off. The small, ornate silver key she traces fits into the heart Emily wears, so now they’re together even when they’re not. Her gift to Emily was a hardback collection of Keats poetry – she’s studying the Romantics and Keats is her favourite – the cloth kind, with gold gilt letters on its spine. She found it in an antique bookshop, tucked away in some backstreet quite by accident. Its value’s been slashed entirely of course, by the fact she wrote a dedication on the inside, but it made Emily’s face light up and trace the letters over and over before kissing her, long and deep; so Naomi quickly determined that the lack of value was relative. Later, they shared the handmade chocolates Emily bought for her as desert to their meal, while they drank red wine and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the umpteenth time, curled up together on the sofa. Emily cried at the end, like always, and like always, Naomi called her a hopeless romantic and kissed away her tears, until Emily’s fingers laced with hers, and she was pulled up from the sofa and led into their bedroom without another word. They stayed up the rest of the night, making love – careful, slow and torturous in the best of ways – until they fell asleep, exhausted, tangled in the sheets and each other’s arms.

She’s nearly ready now, at the embellishment stage, pulling it all, and herself, together. Straightening up the collection of condiments on the tray – miniature marmalade and jams, because Emily can never decide, and she likes collecting the little jars – like she’s seen Emily do thousands of times, she stops to look again, remembering the flowers on their coffee table, their final gift to each other, and steals a rose from each arrangement, one red and one white as a final flourish. It doesn’t really matter that it’s clichéd, but she likes how the two of them look next to each other in the tiny little porcelain vase; she likes what it means.

***

Cautiously, Naomi peers round the bedroom door, smiling when she sees Emily’s still fast asleep. The sun pours in through the thin white curtains that frame the window above the bed, catching her just so. She’s lying on her stomach, and her face is obscured almost entirely by her hair. Barely covered, the sheet and the duvet pool just below her hips, and like always, she’s got one leg exposed, resting on the top of the bedclothes. No matter how she settles before they fall to sleep, it’s usually how she finds Emily in the morning. Whenever she leaves their bed, she always turns back to cover her, and kisses her hair, with a whisper that she’ll be back – never knowing if Emily hears her or not; never needing to.

Even though she’s stood here hundreds, no, thousands of times, she’s never seen Emily look more beautiful. Leaning back against the doorframe, she tilts her head, letting out a sigh as she takes her in again, wanting to remember everything exactly; wishing that the shutter on her camera wasn’t so loud, because it’d make the perfect photograph and her memory will never quite do this girl justice.

She moves forward slowly, flinching every time the old white-washed floorboards creak, smiling to herself when she manages to miss the loose one. Catching sight of her reflection in one of the framed posters on the wall, she pats her hair down and tightens her ponytail, so she looks a little more presentable. For a fleeting moment, her nerves kick in again, and she wonders if she’s really ready or if Emily’s ready to do this. Taking a breath; she feels calmer, and shakes it off. When she glances up to the top of their wardrobe to where Emily’s ring is hidden, she can’t help but feel excited. It’s been there for months, amongst the suitcases, packed safely inside a bigger, innocuous-looking cardboard box without Emily noticing it once. She’s quite proud of that fact.

What makes her prouder still is that she’s finally won Jenna’s acceptance. She cornered her and Rob both at James’ birthday party in October and asked them, rather awkwardly – heart pounding loudly in her ears all the while – if could marry Emily like she was someone in an Austen novel. It didn’t really matter that Rob laughed, said yes before she’d finished the question or pulled her into a ridiculous bear hug drew far too much attention. What mattered was the gentler hug from Jenna that followed it. When she pulled away, she held Naomi’s gaze for a moment, and she saw the faint vestige of tears in her eyes. Then, with a smile and a nod, she went back into the house.

Since then, there’s been a constant stream of emails and phone calls between her, Katie, Jenna, and of course, her mum. How Katie’s kept quiet, she’ll never know, given that she already worked out what was happening before they even left the party, and told her it was ‘about bloody time,’ as she refilled their wine glasses and they clinked them together briefly in toast. Whenever Katie phones now, she drops in ideas about dresses and shoes at any opportunity, despite the fact Emily’s yet to say yes. Even though the Campbell half of the wedding party is smaller, her mum’s certainly made up for it. After a typically overblown reaction – she’s always loved Emily; entirely convinced they were meant to be from the start – she helped her with the last five-hundred for the ring, after she quietly admitted to being worried that someone else would buy it. As they stood together in the pouring rain, looking at it through the shop window, her mum told her to let go of her ethics and her principles, just once, and buy Emily the ring she deserved to have. Before she could even think of arguing, Naomi was dragged inside and her mum was asking for the display case to be opened.

***

Kneeling down next to Emily, Naomi brushes the hair off her face and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. It’s another of her rituals; her ten seconds as Emily’s very own alarm clock.

Once she opens her eyes, there’s no going back.

“Hey,” Naomi whispers, softly, stroking Emily’s cheek, “Sleeping Beauty, it’s time to wake up.”

Emily groans, and begins to stir, “Where did you go?” she asks, turning on her side to face Naomi, flinching when the sun catches her in the eyes. Her voice is low and husky, just like it always is in the mornings, and it’s the reason why she barely makes her morning lectures. One look, one pleading little ‘stay for bit longer, babe,’ and a lingering kiss and Naomi’s lost, with her mouth on Emily’s pinning her to the bed in seconds.

Not today though, not yet. Naomi takes another breath, steeling herself, pushing the urge down and away, reluctantly.

“I missed you next to me,” Emily adds, sweetly, smiling at her, still sleepy.

It’s when she says things like that Naomi remembers that Emily’s not _just_ an incredibly sexy girl, she’s also an adorable one, and that’s why she loves her. Why she’s doing all this.

“I’m back now,” she begins, with a quick kiss to Emily’s cheek, before she climbs on the bed and settles next to her. Emily’s cold, of course, just like Naomi knew she would be, so she pulls Emily close, dropping kisses on her shoulder while she strokes her hand back and forth down Emily’s arm to warm her up, hearing a familiar sigh of contentment. “I’ve been busy, making breakfast … for my Valentine,” Naomi smiles against Emily’s skin, feeling herself blush a little. She’s held her like countless times, but today feels different.

“Aww babe!” Emily exclaims, turning in Naomi’s arms and kissing her. “You’ve spoilt me enough already!” she continues, cupping Naomi’s face with her hand carefully grazing her thumb gently over Naomi’s cheek as she talks.

“You’re mine to spoil,” she replies, pulling Emily closer still, kissing her again, just because she can. It lingers slightly, so they’re sharing air. Just for a second, it’s like they’re one person instead of two.

“I am.” Emily laughs. “All yours,” she adds, barely above a whisper, trailing hand down Naomi’s stomach, letting it come to rest on her hip.

“Yes. Yes, you are,” Naomi replies, slowly, shuddering a little when Emily’s fingers hook the edge of her vest, and slide upward underneath the material.

“All mine,” Emily says, in that same, low voice, looking her right in the eyes.

Naomi sees the telling spark of mischief in them now; she sees the want, and she knows exactly where Emily’s mind is going, because she’s in exactly the same place and she can’t help but give in to it.

Proposals can wait. An hour is nothing when you’ve waited months, and secretly, years to say it.

When Emily’s hand moves higher, stroking her side idly, she exhales a shaky breath, arching into the touch, brushing her lips against Emily’s in the laziest of kisses. They build quickly, growing longer and deeper by the second, and there are two hands at work and an evermore insistent tongue mimicking their motion. It’s Emily that gasps this time, and she grips her tighter, hands sliding out from under Naomi’s vest to grab at it instead, twisting the material for purchase as she pulls Naomi on top of her.

Naomi’s hands come to rest on either side of Emily’s head as she straddles her, taking Emily’s hands in her own, intertwining their fingers. Emily murmurs and grinds up into her in response, and Naomi lets out a low moan at the contact, her mouth crushing against Emily’s in a fierce kiss. After a brief break for air, Naomi kisses her again, softer, slower, and Emily’s breath hitches as she starts a slow, teasing path that starts from the corner of Emily’s mouth, dotting along her jawline and then down her neck, feeling Emily’s hands squeeze hers tighter the lower she goes.

“Naomi…” Emily drags out her name in a long exhale of breath.

She hums a reply, darting her tongue out and licking Emily’s skin, before nipping slightly at her collarbone.

“Naomi …” it’s a little needier, a little more insistent.

Carrying on her descent, she straightens her arms as Emily relaxes her grip. Sliding lower, Naomi begins to drop the lightest of kisses between Emily’s breasts, hearing her take a sharp breath in when she starts to alternate between her lips and her tongue.

“Babe, I think, something, might be … _burning_.”

Naomi’s head jerks up in response, confused. Entirely thrown for a few seconds, it takes her far too long to react to what Emily’s actually said. Then, it all clicks horrifically into place.

“Shit! Shit! _Shit!_ ” she exclaims, scrambling up off the bed and running out of the room.

***

“Naoms, are you OK?” Emily calls from the bedroom. She can only just hear over the incessant beeping of the smoke alarm.

“Fine! Your Undomesticated Goddess just had another one of her disasters, that’s all!”

She tries to sound normal, to keep her tone light and even, laughs for good measure, but it rings tellingly hollow. Emily will know she’s putting up a front, because she’s seen all this before: burned toast, burned chilli, pans ruined from porridge and sauces stuck fast like glue to the bottom because they were watching something on the telly; talking on the phone or were too distracted by roaming hands and sweet little kisses that unfurled accidentally into much more. When she’s with Emily, pedestrian things like how high the gas is or if things have been stirred in the last ten minutes are irrelevant.

Any second, she knows Emily will sweep in and soothe her, clean and tidy like she always does, distracting her with kisses until she’s not angry anymore. Then, she’ll make the same thing Naomi tried to, only better and faster, without thinking about it, because Emily grew up with a mother and a grandmother who taught her how to cook, bake and tend to flowers instead of telling her about Global Warming, CFCs and the benefits of recycling. Usually she can take it, because she recognises her own ineptitude, and actually likes it when Emily plays up to it and shows her how to make things. Some of the most fun she’s ever had, ever, has come from random afternoons of cooking and baking, and not just because they’re together. Like when it descends into a food fight and they wreck the kitchen so they end up with flour or cake mix all over themselves; or when they make alcoholic jellies in rabbit moulds and drink too much along the way, so they end up dancing around the kitchen to rubbish music on the radio, laughing; or the moments when she remembers how adorable Emily looks in her little retro apron with the cherries on, only to reconsider that idea on the days when all she’s wearing _is_ that apron and it’s one of the sexiest things she’s ever seen.

But today, she can’t, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She can’t face presenting Emily with a half empty tray made up of fruit and barely cooked scrambled eggs, and then try and pull off the rest of her grand plan, because she won’t believe it when Emily tells her it doesn’t matter, and smiles sweetly at her before proclaiming her food to be the best thing she’s ever eaten. Today, it matters.

Naomi says nothing else, even though she wants to scream the place down in sheer frustration, but she knows that silence is telling too. Instead, she takes it all out on the sash window, wincing when it screeches open and she’s hit with a cold blast of February London air.

Finally, the alarm stops, and the heavy, acrid smell in the flat begins to dissipate.

“Fucking idiot,” she says, through gritted teeth.

Storming across to the oven, she swats at the smoke curling out toward her, and yanks out the out the grill pan and blows out the last few flickering flames and the inedible, charred remnants of the heart-shaped toast she worked so hard to get right are left behind. She shakes her head, and throws the whole thing into the sink. It clatters loudly, sticking up at an odd angle because of the plates and cutlery already there.

“ _Fuck!_ ” she yells, turning her back on it, kicking at the cupboard with her heel, ignoring the sting. Tears spring up of their own accord, and she looks up at the ceiling, arms folded in defiance, willing herself to stop. It’s irrational to be crying over toast, but she can’t help it, because it’s typical, it’s so very Naomi Campbell and she hates it; hates that her plan for the perfect romantic breakfast are in ruins because she didn’t have the willpower to resist Emily, just once. They could’ve done all the kissing in the world after the proposal and spent all afternoon in bed.

“Naomi?!” Emily calls to her again, louder, and more urgently than before.

She sniffs back her tears, trying to form an answer when she hears Emily padding quickly across the floor, barefoot, dressed in nothing but one of her t-shirts; her favourite, long since faded.

“Don’t touch that, it’s hot,” she gestures to the sink, not bothering to elaborate.

“Oh babe,” Emily says, in her trademark soothing singsong, tilting her head. She reaches up on her tiptoes, kissing her gently on the lips.

“I planned it all out for you. You were supposed to have breakfast in bed, and I’d feed you, and I even tried to make that stupid heart-shaped toast with those cutters we saw in that little shop, and now it’s all fucking ruined!”

It all comes out in one big rush, and her voice waivers at the end. Then, she breaks entirely, starting to cry again, despite her best efforts not to.

“Shush,” Emily says, pulling her into a hug. “It’s OK. It’s only bread, babe. I can make more toast, but I can’t make another you, can I?”

She lets out a choked little sob at that and squeezes Emily that little bit harder in return, closing her eyes briefly as she rests her head on Emily’s shoulder.

“I love you for trying though,” Emily whispers. “Thank you.”

“I wanted it to be perfect for you,” she gets out, between sobs.

“It is,” Emily steps back, brushing the shed tears from Naomi’s face. “You are,” she pauses, reaching for Naomi’s necklace, fitting the key into the heart dangling from her own. “See? Perfect.”

They just stand together for a moment, with Emily holding their joined necklaces, and Naomi can’t do anything but look at her, and Emily’s looking right back, adoringly, smiling her sweet Emily Jane Fitch smile that makes Naomi’s breath stall in her lungs every single time she sees it. Emily pulls out the tiny key and lets it drop again, before pressing a light kiss to Naomi’s lips, her palm resting lightly on Naomi’s chest, close to her heart.

She wants to blurt out ‘marry me’ right that very second, but Emily turns away, and she’s left watching her watching her as she goes to the breakfast tray, her fingertips drumming over the tops of the little jars before she leans over and sniffs the flowers, twirling their stems.

“Jam, marmalade, and undercooked scrambled eggs,” Naomi laughs, bitterly. “Bet it’s just what you’ve always wanted!”

“It is actually,” she smiles, glancing over as she pops a strawberry into a mouth. “Mmm!” she coos, eating it quickly, turning back from the counter holding another, “Beautifully fanned, too,” she inspects it a moment, beaming.

Naomi watches intently as Emily takes another, eats slower this time, savouring it with an adorable grin on her face. The toast matters less, the plan matters less. The look in her eyes and the pride in her voice is enough to make Naomi realise that. She relaxes immediately, and the tension in her goes.

After all that preparation, all she needed to do was buy some organic strawberries, dust them with sugar and she had Emily swooning. It always surprises her, how much Emily appreciates her, how much Emily loves her. There’s a part of her – small now, smaller than it’s ever been – that wonders if she ever truly deserves it all, but it only takes one look from Emily, and the doubt disappears.

Closing the gap between them, Naomi snakes an arm around Emily’s waist, tilting her head down to kiss the corner of her mouth to catch the drips of the strawberry juice running down her chin. They both laugh, and Naomi kisses her again, tasting the remnants of strawberries, sticky and sweet, on Emily’s tongue.

“Now then, gorgeous girlfriend, sorry, _valentine_ of mine,” Emily begins, draping her arms loosely around Naomi’s neck. “I think we should go back to bed, and pick up where we left off?” she smirks devilishly playing with the hair that’s escaped from her ponytail. “You deserve a reward.”

“I do?”

Emily answers with a quick kiss on the lips, “Mmm. Definitely.”

“Really, Miss Fitch?” Naomi tilts her head, smiling. “How do you know I haven’t got any other presents to give you?”

“Because I’ve already got the best one,” Emily replies, quietly, blushing.

Naomi nods in reply, because it’s how she feels; how she’s always felt. Overcome by Emily’s words, she feels herself well up. Suddenly the moment’s here, unfolding before her. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Emily’s inches away, staring up at her in the same beautiful, pure way as before, and she knows she’s ready.

“There is … something else.”

“Oh Naoms, you really don’t –”

Naomi cuts her off, pressing a finger to Emily’s lips. “Something I’ve been planning.”

Emily’s arms drop to her sides, and suddenly she looks nervous. Frowning in confusion, she looks like she’s about to ask a question, but stops herself.

“Just for you,” Naomi focuses on Emily’s face; on the deep brown eyes studying her. She feels her heart beating that little bit faster, and hopes that Emily doesn’t hear the telltale trembling in her voice.

Wordlessly, she takes Emily’s hand, lacing their fingers together and leads her towards their bedroom.

***

“Sit,” Naomi instructs gently, as she reluctantly lets go of Emily’s hand.

It’s a relief when Emily plays along, nods and sits on the edge of the bed with her hands folded neatly in her lap without a word. All she gets is a bemused look, and Naomi knows the cogs are turning. Emily’s trying to work everything out, and get there before her, but this is one present she’ll never guess by rattling the box out of all existence or firing a million questions at her until she gives in.

She turns her back on Emily for a moment and tries to collect herself. Reaching up for the box, she grips it tightly. After a quick steadying breath in, Naomi turns, and slowly crosses the room, setting the box down next to her. Emily’s face lights up immediately and Naomi can’t help but smile. This is exactly what she imagined, right down to the smallest detail.

Emily turns the box a few times, inspecting it, curiously.

“I wondered what this was!” she points a finger accusingly, but her smile never fades. “You’re sneaky!”

“I was waiting for the right moment,” Naomi says, blushing a little with embarrassment as she climbs onto the bed.

Emily pats the space next to her, but Naomi sits opposite instead, wanting to see everything the moment Emily does. She kneels, mirroring Emily as she watches her begin to open the box, carefully picking the tape off slowly so it comes in one complete strip, flinching a little every time it threatens to catch.

Now it’s finally open, Emily peers inside and then looks back at her. Naomi says nothing, but nods her head to encourage her, watching her lift out the polished wooden box from in amongst all the shredded newspapers and magazines. She looks more confused than ever, because it’s much bigger than a ring box, closer to something that her shoes might fit into. It’s another antique shop find, as full as she could get it with things she’s written over the years, collected together for Emily to read for the first time. They’re all tied in little bundles vintage patterned ribbons, like she used to wear in her hair. They write each other little notes all the time, silly, stupid things mostly, with hearts and smiley faces or bits of poems and songs, but these are different. These are secret words – diary entries written in the dead of the night, love letters never sent – like letting the blood out of her heart and using it for ink. She means every single one.

Nestled underneath, is the ring itself, in its matching box, cocooned in the aged red velvet lining, waiting to be found.

Naomi doesn’t say anything, even though she’s dying to. Instead, she leans forward to take away the now empty cardboard box and throws it off the bed. It lands in the corner by their dressing table with a muted thud.

“What …” Emily shakes her head, edging closer to the gold catch, but she stops herself from opening it. “Naomi, what’s –”

“Just open it. You’ll see.”

She hears the tiny creak of the box’s hinge, and she’s suddenly tense again, playing with a loose thread on her vest like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Oh, Naomi,” Emily sighs sweetly. At that, Naomi looks up, seeing her holding one of the bundles in her hands, touching the delicate ribbon, tracing her fingertips over the tag attached to it and every other: _Love you always. All ways. Naomi xxx_. Her eyes are already glistening with tears.

“I wanted you to know everything,” she replies, quietly.

“What do you mean everything?” Emily looks at her, brows furrowed.

“I want you to understand why I did, what I did. It’s important.”

“OK.” There’s a flash of concern on her face, but she hides it quickly. She unties the ribbon, laying the collection out on the bed. She picks one at random, and opens it carefully.

Naomi waits again.

“It’s everything,” she begins, and then stops herself, annoyed because she’s just repeating herself, and it’s not coming out right. “When I couldn’t say how I felt, I used to write it down … and I imagined that one day, I’d be able to give them to you, and you’d read them. Today’s the day.”

She’s chosen the first thing Naomi included, written on thin lined paper in bright blue ink. The light from the window makes it practically see-through, but Naomi knows exactly what it says. Her eyes stay on Emily instead, looking for the first flicker of a response.

“This is … eight years … this is when Katie and I…we were twelve,” Emily tails off, falling silent.

_Two new girls moved into our class today. They’re twins. The Fitch twins. One of them’s really loud, her name’s Katie, she’s popular, and everyone knows her. She’s the one they all notice. All I could look at was her sister, Emily. She’s completely the opposite; shy and quiet, always trailing after her. She’s … beautiful._

“Did you really think that?” Emily asks, flipping her hair back with her hand when it falls into her eyes.

Naomi nods. “I still do.”

Emily blushes, clearly not believing a word and looks down at the bed again.

After a moment of consideration, she picks another, torn from another diary in another year, written in red ink.

_Mum forced me to go to Clare Stephens’ birthday party; she’s convinced I’m turning into a social hermit with an unhealthy obsession for Shakespeare. It was pretty much as shit as I was expecting, well, except for the part where I sat in the back garden with Emily and we shared the vodka I snuck in. We actually talked! It’s the most I’ve ever heard her say._

There’s a little a little peel of laughter from Emily at first, “I wasn’t going to go either, Katie made me. For once, I’m glad she did.”

“Me too,” she admits, quietly, waiting for Emily’s expression to change from dreamy nostalgia to something else.

_Then, out of nowhere, she kissed me, and for a few seconds, I’d thought I’d died and gone to heaven, but it turns out I’m destined for hell, because her stupid fucking sister caught us and she’s spreading it round that it’s my fault. It’s ridiculous, but I can’t stop thinking about it, about her; about how soft her lips were and how much I want to kiss her again … I shouldn’t be thinking this stuff about another girl._

Sure enough, her face falls.

“Oh …” is all she says, before she reaches across and takes her hand. “I wish you could’ve talked to me then like you can now. I hate that you felt like this.”

“But you were the first person to make me feel anything, darlin.’ Remember that.”

A tear rolls down Emily’s cheek at her words. Though things are getting harder to say, she forges on.

“It hurt sometimes. Too much. But then, other times, it was the greatest thing, being near you. That’s what made it so hard, because I never really understood how I felt.”

Naomi chooses for her this time; green paper, without lines, black ink in an untidy hand, written at a feverish pace. It’s the longest of all, dedicated to what she now knows to be one of the most important days of her life, up until then at least. It was her turning point; when she let herself love Emily back.

“So, I stopped thinking, I just let myself feel it instead. Just once.”

She’s given Emily enough clues, so she stops speaking and lets her read. There’s a brief flash of recognition and the faintest hint of a smile.

_The more I try to stay away from Emily, the more time we seem to spend together. Half of me wants to spend every second of the day with her, and the other half wants to run in the opposite direction. She just keeps being so lovely and kind, and every time I say something shit to her, that’s exactly what I feel like. Shit._

_We ended up at this lake in the middle of nowhere, and we went swimming before we got wasted and did blowbacks. I couldn’t stand just looking at her anymore, it’s not enough. She’s making it worse, because she just gives all the time. I’ve been trying so hard to forget her, to let go of it all, but I can’t. For once, I gave something back. I kissed her, and she kissed back … and … It was amazing. She was amazing. She is amazing. She was so gentle and patient and it was everything people always say. It finally all clicked into place, and now I don’t know what to do. I can’t be the person she wants. I ran away. I left her and she’s so fucking angry. I’m breaking her heart, I’ll ruin her, I know it._

Emily looks her right in the eyes, shaking her head vehemently. Tears are there, ready to spill. “I was wrong. You _are_ brave, so fucking brave.”

“No,” she purses her lips closed a moment, feeling herself well up once more. “I’m only brave because of you. You were brave enough to love me,” her voice breaks a little, and she clears her throat.

“I was _patient_ enough to love you.” Emily corrects, with a small smile. “You’re worth it babe. All of it.”

Naomi just nods, solemnly, because they’ve come to that point in their history; another landmark, indelible. Her name goes unsaid. Emily folds the letter back up and they’re quiet for what feels like a long time, and she speaks just to break the silence.

“Really?”

“ _Really_.” Emily pauses for emphasis. “I’ve never wanted anyone else. I’ve never loved anyone else.”

“I always knew that I loved you, deep down, even if I didn’t want to admit it. But what I never realised, was, how _much_ I could love you. I want more, Ems. I want us to be more.”

Naomi swallows hard. It’s time. The opening she’s been waiting for has arrived. She doesn’t need Emily to see anything else but the ring. She doesn’t need to ask her anything else but the question that’s been running round her brain for months.

“I love you so much, and, you mean everything to me…” she holds Emily’s gaze. “I want everyone to know it … I want them to see it.”

“Naomi…” Emily says, softly, stroking Naomi’s hand with her thumb.

“There’s not just letters inside there.”

“What?” Emily’s eyes widen.

Naomi lets go of Emily’s hand and leans across, lifting away the other bundles to reveal the ring box. With a shaky hand, she reaches inside and opens it. Somehow, it’s even more beautiful than she remembers. The gold looks brighter, the diamonds seem to sparkle more in the daylight than they did under the lights in the shop.

“Naomi!” Emily gasps, hand flying up to her mouth in shock. “It’s beautiful! There’s diamonds, you hate diamonds!”

“I found someone precious enough to deserve them.”

“Wait. It’s the ring from that shop! The one that I said I wanted ….” her face is streaked with tears already. “If we, ever got …” she fights to speak, trying to hold it all together, looking between her, the ring and back again.

“Engaged,” Naomi cuts in, finishing for her, taking Emily’s hand once more. “I know we said we’d wait, but I can’t. Marry me… I mean …” she takes a breath, tries to steady herself. “Emily Jane Fitch, will you marry me?” her voice gives out the end of the sentence, and she can only just hear herself.

The moment the words leave her mouth, it feels like the world stops. The room falls silent, and fear seeps in to her brain. She’s made a mistake. A horrible mistake. It was too early, too much, too soon, and now Emily’s trying to think of how to let her down gently. Her face starts to blur, everything starts to blur. All she can hear is her heart pounding loud in her ears. She can’t think, she can’t breathe, and a wave of nausea threatens to sweep over her until she hears Emily finally speak.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Naomi exhales. The world rights itself. Everything kicks back into normal speed and suddenly, Emily pounces, straddling her, as their lips crash together in a fierce kiss. The momentum pushes them both backwards and Naomi squeals, instinctively wrapping her arms around Emily and the kiss deepens.

“You sure?” Naomi asks, nervously, when they break apart, breathless.

“How could I ever say no to you, you gorgeous, amazing girl?!” she beams, smothering her with more kisses. “I love you!”

Now her heart is racing for all the right reasons.

“I dreamt of you saying that. For … a long time,” her voice breaks, and fresh tears streak down her face.

“This is real,” Naomi smiles, kissing away Emily’s tears. “I promise.”

Emily sits back, stroking Naomi’s face as if she’s seeing her anew. Naomi sees something glint out of the corner of her eye, and she realises Emily’s wearing the ring. She catches hold of Emily’s hand, and kisses the back of her palm.

“Perfect,” she breathes, and Emily blushes.

“Put it on me, properly, please?” she says sweetly, tilting her head.

Naomi nods, Emily moves back a little, so she can sit up. She works it loose only to slide it back on again with a trembling hand. It fits exactly, and even though it’s new, it looks like it belongs there.

“It’s beautiful, babe,” Emily looks down at it, smiling wide, turning her hand left and right, watching the light catch it.

“Just like the girl wearing it then.”

Emily laughs lightly.

Then it suddenly hits her, that one day, in the not-too-distant future, Emily will be her wife. The person she’s married to. Once, it was abstract, it _was_ a dream, but now it’s real, actual, and it’s all a bit overwhelming.

“I’ve got you now?” it tumbles out of her mouth before she realises, half statement, half question.

“Yes,” Emily replies, with a peck to her cheek, lacing their fingers together.

“Forever.”

“For always.”


End file.
